


The right kind of inspiration.

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Sports RPF, Tennis RPF
Genre: Australian Open, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Satisfaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 13:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: Boris Becker, about what is important concerning the preparation for a final: "The right kind of inspiration the previous evening is really important."Well, Rafa knows he can give that to Roger.





	The right kind of inspiration.

Rafa wasn't a whiny person, per se. However, he knew exactly how to push Roger’s buttons, so when he heard that the Swiss’ was fumbling with the lock of the older man’s hotel door, he quickly lay down on the king size bed, his head facing the end of it, with his naked feet resting on the pillows.  
The door opened up and revealed Roger, who was carrying his training bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.  
  
Apparently, he did not spot the Spaniard at first, so Rafa let out a dissatisfied moan, his chin propped up on the knuckles of his hands.  
Roger literally jumped and let out a noise that made Rafa laugh, while the bag hit the ground with a dull sound.  
“What the fuck, man,” Roger said and the back of his head hit the wall when he jumped back in shock.  
Rafa bit down on his lip to stop a grin from spreading on his face, muffling a chuckle by pressing his mouth against the sheets.  
  
“How the hell did you-…” Roger started but Rafa interrupted him.  
“Language, Rogelio,” he grinned and the Swiss rolled his eyes, the shock fading away while Rafa couldn’t hold back a low laugh.  
“What would press say? Clean and tidy Roger using such bad words?” he teased and wiggled his eyebrows, pleased by how the older man shot him a dark glance.  
“What do you want?” Roger asked and crossed his arms in front of his chest, not making an attempt to step closer.  
Rafa watched the Swiss closely, took in the sight of his silky hair that was glowing almost golden in the dim lights of the room, how his dark eyes held his gaze with ease, his head tilted slightly, his face not giving away too much, as usual.  
  
But Rafa knew better than anyone how to read the Swiss and he did not miss how he stood with his legs pressed together a little tighter than normally.  
The Spaniard smirked.  
“What are you doing here? Is this becoming a habit, sneaking into my rooms at Slams? Do I have to be worried who you seduced this time to get the keys?” Roger asked when Rafa did not answer his first question, his brows drawn together.  
  
“I not know…” Rafa replied and rolled to the side, which caused the thin blanket to slip, showing Roger that he was, indeed, very much naked, “people stop asking questions about why I need your keys long ago.”  
Roger turned away from him immediately, covering his eyes with his left hand, a low groan dropping from his lips.  
  
“There’s a final I’ll have to play tomorrow, Rafa…” he replied as if that said it all but Rafa would not back down so easily.  
“Roger…” he whispered, adding just the right amount of a whine to make the Swiss look at him again, “it has been too long, no?”  
Roger stared at him blankly.  
“Tell me, what _exactly_ about 24 hours appears _too long_ to you?”  
  
Rafa pouted and tried to reach out for the Swiss but the wiggled out skilfully.  
“Is 23 hours too long, no?”  
Rafa’s breath got caught in his throat when Roger gave him a hungry look, his eyes clearly wandering down his back and legs, the desire to see what Rafa was hiding by lying on his stomach on full display.  
  
“See, Rafa. I sure as hell don’t want to walk on a tennis court feeling sore.”  
Rafa’s eyes shot up in surprise at the implication that Roger thought about being fucked by him, when they mostly did it the other way around.  
Rafa wasn’t stupid, he knew well enough that nothing would happen this night apart from maybe a few quick hand jobs and sloppy kissing that would leave both of them unsatisfied, craving for more.  
  
His face grew hot with those imagines in mind and Roger was watching him curiously, conflict written all over his face.  
“I would love seeing that, sí. Everyone wondering why you can’t move… While only I know the truth.”  
Roger let out a groan and sat down on the edge of a bed, a hand reaching out to brush some strands of hair out of the Spaniard’s face.  
Rafa closed his eyes and leaned into his boyfriend’s tender touch, going after the warmth of his fingers and Roger’s familiar scent.  
  
“Te quiero,” he breathed out and Roger let out a sigh.  
“I want you too, Rafa.”  
“You could have me now… However you want…”  
Roger shot him a grin and Rafa felt himself blushing, even though it had been him who had suggested all the dirty little things they saved up for special moments, after all these years of being together and knowing each other inside out.  
  
“No one does this job better, you know,” Roger said and licked his bottom lip, causing Rafa to drop his gaze and keep it fixed on the Swiss’ magnetic mouth.  
“What job?” he asked, feeling almost dizzy with the older man so close.  
“Getting me all heated up and then doing nothing about it. Leaving me without any satisfaction the night before a final.”  
Their eyes met again.  
“It keeps you hungry, no? Gives you power on the court.”  
Roger nodded, his fingers ghosting over the Spaniard’s shoulder blades.  
“Yes. Keeps me starving for release. For victories.”  
He placed a kiss against Rafa’s shoulder and held their gaze.

 

24 hours later, they are lying in Roger’s bed again, with the Swiss’ arms wrapped around Rafa’s back while the younger one keeps stroking his boyfriend gently throughout his afterglow.  
“Rafa?” Roger eventually whispers, his lips moving against the other man’s skin.  
“Mh-mh?”  
“I’m beginning to think that no victory on earth can make me feel like this,” he makes a gesture that includes both of them, “not anymore.”  
 Rafa gave him a comforting smile, hoping that his eyes were conveying the message that he would stick with Roger, no matter what.  
“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've just recently realized that I have never written a story from Rafa's "POV", this is my first shot at it..  
> What do you think?  
> Should I rather stick with Roger's thoughts?  
> It was really challenging, tbh. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos mean everything to me.  
> All the love!
> 
> Oh and I almost forgot: Roger has done it?! Fucking 20 Grand Slams?  
> Rafa must be so proud...  
> I'm wondering how they'll celebrate...


End file.
